The Complexity of Human Pranks
by NotesfromaClassroom
Summary: "I apologize, Captain, but the complexities of human pranks escape me," Spock says as Chris Pike heads to the Narada. But do they really? Spock may not be as confused as he claims. Set in the pre-launch countdown after Pike taps Spock as his XO.
1. First Officer

**The Complexities of Human Pranks**

**Chapter One: First Officer**

**Disclaimer: I am a spy in the universe of Star Trek, not an owner-I look and report but make no money.  
**

"I may have made a mistake."

Spock's comment is so astonishing that Nyota pauses, holding the knife in mid-air that she is using to cut vegetables for their evening meal. Gingerly she puts the knife on the cutting board, wipes her hands on the kitchen towel, and swivels around to look carefully at Spock.

His apartment kitchen is small but functional, and lately Nyota enjoys cooking with the tagine his mother gave him when he first come to the Academy. Tonight she has planned to try a new recipe she uploaded from a database of ethnic dishes, including species-specific foods, as a celebration of Spock's first official meeting as first officer with the staff of the _Enterprise_.

His face suggests that a celebration is premature.

"What happened?" she says, stepping across the warm tile floor to where he is standing.

Instead of answering, Spock turns and heads back into the living area, his arms at his side. He moves to the sofa and sits heavily, the lack of his usual grace a sure sign of his distraction. More than his words, his mannerisms worry Nyota, and she follows him and sits beside him.

"Tell me," she says, reaching up to stroke his brow. He inclines his head toward her and takes a breath.

"The meeting was….confusing."

She knows how he values his competence in anything he does. For Spock, confusion is an invitation to discover the truth of the matter—the drive behind his doggedness when he wants to know something.

But it is also a source of shame.

Not knowing something, not being able to do something—not being competent in anything—shakes his confidence in who he is.

Nyota pulls her legs up under her and prepares to wait for him to give her more details. Sometimes he's like this—reticent and almost withdrawn—not because he doesn't want to share with her, but because he needs time to organize his thoughts.

For another minute he says nothing but stares into the distance. A car horn outside the apartment building interrupts the silence, and muted voices filter in from the apartment next door. Still, Nyota waits quietly, listening to the sounds around them.

Spock takes another deep breath and then says, "I am uncertain that my presence was necessary. Nothing that was discussed was essential."

He frowns fractionally, as if remembering something, and Nyota leans closer.

"What sorts of things were discussed?" she asks, and Spock blinks twice and says, "Issues that do not involve me."

He blinks again and Nyota can see that he is deciding how detailed to make his account. She nods to encourage him, and he says, "Upcoming off-duty time by some of the officers, for instance. Captain Pike and his attaché spent fourteen minutes discussing their own itineraries, and then he asked each of us in turn to elaborate on our own plans for recreational travel before the scheduled launch."

Nyota puts her hands to her mouth to hide her smile, but Spock is looking away and doesn't notice.

"I have no interest in where other people are traveling and what they will do once they arrive," he says. "I could have been planning my lecture for tomorrow's class instead."

"And you told them that, didn't you?" Nyota says.

She sees him react to her tone of voice—she is careful not to sound either too scolding or too light-hearted—and he nods.

"We could make more efficient use of our meeting time without that sort of interruption," Spock says matter-of-factly.

With a sigh, Nyota reaches out to brush her hand along his arm.

"And Captain Pike? Did he say anything?"

Rarely does Spock ever look anything but sallow and collected, but he suddenly flushes, a tinge of green across his cheeks and at the tip of his ears. Embarrassment, then—so Captain Pike had not been amused and he had let Spock know. Nyota feels her chest constrict in sympathy.

Spock looks at her with the same intensity that he gives a difficult mathematical equation—a look she recognizes as his invitation to her to explain the world that still trips him up.

"Those sorts of niceties," she begins, "help groups of humans feel….connected to each other. Like part of a team. You need to know things about your teammates—"

"How will knowing the vacation destination of the chief engineer help me in my interactions with him on the ship?" Spock says with what sounds suspiciously like the edge of irritation.

When Nyota reaches to take Spock's hand in hers, she feels his reluctance, but she holds his fingers tightly and does not let him go. For a moment he shields his thoughts from her, but then his disquiet washes over her, and she has glimpses of the other officers, and Captain Pike, their expressions clearly annoyed.

"I know it's crazy," she says, "but it's true. Knowing the vacation plans of the engineer—"

"The chief engineer—"

"-the chief engineer makes him more….human….to you. And you to him. Don't say it. You know what I mean."

Spock pulls his hand back and says, "Indeed, I do not know what you mean. That is why the meeting today was so confusing."

"You're just going to have to trust me, then," Nyota says. "Some things you have to do in relationships—like chit chat when you don't want to, or share moments from your private life—"

Even though they are not touching, she feels his dismay. His brow wrinkles and he flushes again.

"You already do that with your friends," Nyota protests, but Spock says, "But the other officers on the _Enterprise_ are not my friends."

"You make them your friends by being….friendly. Asking about their well-being, about what they are doing—"

"Even when doing so is a waste of time?"

"It isn't a waste of time if you are developing a good working relationship with them," Nyota says, finally sounding exasperated. Is Spock being deliberately uncooperative? She can't tell.

"I appreciate the need to have a working relationship with the other members of the crew," he says, and Nyota exhales dramatically.

"Good," she says.

She starts to stand up when Spock adds, "But a working relationship should not require the same level of intimacy implied in friendship."

She sits back down.

"Captain Pike is trying to help you feel like a cohesive group—the question about the vacation plans was one way to do that. You're getting hung up on the question because you don't care about where people are vacationing—but it isn't the question that matters. It's the thought behind it. See?"

Spock looks at her, unblinking, and Nyota feels herself squirm, almost as she had when she had first met him and he was an intimidating professor with an unfathomable gaze.

"As I said, I may have made a mistake."

X X X X X X X X

"I think I screwed up."

Christopher Pike is on his second scotch. Natalie Jolsen, his attaché, is on her second bourbon. She's been watching Chris and waiting for the inevitable rant. Here it comes, she thinks, signaling to the bartender to refresh her drink.

Not that Chris is wrong. Tapping Spock as the first officer of the _Enterprise_ doesn't seem like such a good idea at the moment.

The bar is one they visit frequently, and the bartender knows when to approach and when to stay away, depending on Chris' decibel level. Right now Chris is still reasonably soft-spoken, and the bartender holds up the bottle of scotch and waggles it in question.

"Sure," Chris says, holding out his glass for a refill. Natalie hazards a glance at the chronometer over the door of the dark, dank bar. 2017—it certainly feels later. But then again, the afternoon seemed to last forever.

"I don't get it," Chris says for the umpteenth time and shaking his head. "I know Spock is right for the job, but he's so _wrong_, too."

He takes a swig and looks up at Natalie blearily.

"How is that possible? Huh? You tell me, Nat."

She doesn't rush to answer. She knows that Chris is remembering Spock's courage during the Feynman Conference in Leiden when he had carried a live sonic grenade out of a crowded building and risked losing his own life when it detonated. Chris had been impressed at how quickly Spock had assessed the danger and taken action—"_I need someone like that at my back"_ Chris had told Natalie later when he explained why he was offering him the post—something that had surprised many people, including crew members he had worked with for years who were disappointed to be passed over in favor of a relatively untested young commander.

But Spock's awkwardness—his _quirkiness_—has thrown Chris for a loop.

Before she can answer, Chris continues.

"Spock's lived on Earth how long—and he still has trouble getting along with people? And his human mother? Didn't he learn anything from her?"

He takes another drink and sets his glass down so forcefully that it sloshes.

"Doesn't he know how to keep from getting on someone's nerves?"

"Maybe not," Natalie says, tucking her short auburn bob behind her ears.

She had spent most of the afternoon on the sidelines watching Chris and some of the officers getting progressively more upset with Spock's dismissal of their team-building exercises. Olson, in particular, had taken offense, though Natalie pegged him long ago as a hot-head.

On one hand she can understand Spock's impatience at the meeting. As far as Natalie knows, Spock is the only officer who is not working full-time on the pre-launch countdown. His prior commitment to teaching one course at the Academy means that he has to share his time—another source of irritation for Chris, though Natalie has mitigated that somewhat by agreeing to fill in when Spock is unable to be there.

That suits Chris just fine. Until Natalie had decided to resign her commission and start a family, Chris had always imagined her as his XO. And one of the main reasons Spock is her replacement is because she decided he should be.

She hasn't yet been able to articulate why she has advocated so hard for him—she's not a great believer in intuition, yet something tells her that Spock will keep Chris safe.

She tries not to think too hard about why that is so important to her, beyond her respect and admiration for Chris, of course.

Somehow she's going to have to have a talk with Spock, and soon. She saw several people bristle when Spock said that his time was better spent planning his Academy course rather than participating in—what did he call it? _Events of questionable interest or value._

And that was during a refreshment break when everyone was sharing holos of their families—and Spock had pointedly refused.

"Yep," Chris says, finishing his drink. "I think I screwed up."

Chris needs to head home soon—Natalie has car fare ready—but she doesn't want to send him home in such a foul mood. He will brood when he's alone—she knows him when he's upset—and tomorrow he'll be completely out of sorts if he does.

"Maybe," she says, "but this was just the first meeting. Give him time. Remember how it took you awhile to warm up to him—"

"No kidding," Chris says, rattling the ice in his empty glass.

"I know this is hard for you," Natalie says, leaning her elbows on the wooden table, "but be patient. I'll have a talk with him. You'll see. He'll come around."

Chris puts his glass back on the table and says, "He better. He's your pick, you know."

He spikes his fingers through his graying hair—a tad long for regulation as always—and looks Natalie in the eye.

"And I'll tell everyone that _you_ screwed up."

**A/N: You don't have to read "The Interview" to understand this story, but "The Interview" goes into more detail about the reasons Pike tapped Spock to be his first officer. **

**Hang in there-this is a set up for lots of shenanigans later!**

**Thanks as always to StarTrekFanWriter for her helpful suggestions. If you haven't already, check out her newest story, "Tapestry," in my faves.**


	2. Frenemies

**Chapter Two: Frenemies**

**Disclaimer: I neither own nor profit from writing about these characters.**

Natalie intends to speak to Spock the next day, but a critical manifold shipped to the wrong yard has to be tracked down and redirected before anything else can happen in engineering. The work stoppage puts Chief Engineer Greg Olson in a more cantankerous mood than usual, and Natalie eventually snaps at him—surprising him, because she is almost always even-tempered.

"Sorry, Olson," she says, getting him to sign the revised shipping orders later that afternoon. "I didn't mean to bite your head off. Things are dicey right now."

She can see him eyeing her carefully—though he might simply be wary about evoking her ire again.

"No, it's me that should apologize " he says. "I know this is hard for you."

The engineering room is hot, the oily vapors sticking her uniform to her skin. Natalie does not want to stand around engaging in mindless chit-chat with Olson—_though isn't that the same attitude that got Spock in hot water yesterday? _—but she senses that she needs to.

"No harder than any other launch, I guess," she says, tucking the PADD under her arm.

"Not the launch," Olson says, looking around as if he is afraid of being overheard. Natalie follows his gaze and sees no one close enough to hear their conversation over the construction noise.

"What are you talking about?" she says cautiously. If Olson is aware of some scuttlebutt she needs to know….

"We were counting on you as first officer," Olson says, "and I don't blame you for being hopping mad—"

"Wait a minute!" Natalie protests. "I'm not mad. What makes you think I'm mad?"

"I would be," Olson says, "if the captain jumped some green cadet over me—"

Natalie blows out her breath loudly.

"Wait a second. You've got this all wrong. The captain didn't jump anyone over me—I'm resigning my commission."

Olson nods and gives what Natalie assumes is supposed to be a sympathetic look. It makes her furious.

"I always planned to leave! No one's making me. I have other things to do with my life besides fly around with Starfleet."

Olson gives her the same nod and Natalie feels a rush of annoyance. Is he deaf?

"Whatever you say, Commander," Olson says.

"Listen to me," Natalie says, squaring her shoulders and stepping closer. "Captain Pike and I both think that Commander Spock is the right choice for first officer. He's not some green cadet. He's been teaching at the Academy for several years."

Olson steps back fractionally and Natalie follows him.

"If he hadn't been with us in Leiden, we might have been killed."

"Okay, okay!" Olson says, putting his palms up. "You made your point."

Natalie huffs and pulls the PADD from under her arm. She starts to turn and hears Olson saying, "But he's an odd duck—you have to admit that."

Later Natalie will wonder why she reacts so strongly—it certainly doesn't help Spock win any friends—but she's tired of having to defend him, first to Pike, and now to this blustering engineer. At Olson's muttering, she swings back around and pokes her index finger to his chest.

"Listen, Mister," she says softly, "I'm still part of this team until the launch—and while I am, you will show respect to every crew member, including Commander Spock. Do you understand me?"

Something intangible shifts in Olson's expression—his eyes narrow slightly, his cheeks go ruddy—and Natalie already regrets her heavy-handedness with him. Now she has an enemy she didn't have before, and Spock….well, she doesn't want to think about what she may have done for—or to—him.

X X X X X X X X

None of the students in the lecture hall has any sense that Spock is disturbed. The pitch of his voice is as it always is—quiet and knowledgeable and, to the uncharitable few not really interested in the subject matter, steady to the point of monotony.

But even as he talks about the ethical treatment of artificial intelligence and the newest legal thinking about the rights and privileges of non-organic beings, part of his mind is occupied with replaying the staff meeting from the day before.

The other officers were already present and had fallen silent when he arrived.

The odds are 67% that he was the topic of conversation: they were waiting to begin the meeting when he arrived, he was unfamiliar to them, and he heard someone say his name right before he opened the door. Their curiosity—and the likelihood they were discussing the source of their curiosity—is logical.

Still, their sudden silence made him uncomfortable.

Captain Pike was sitting at the head of the conference table, his attaché to his left, his officers arranged around him with the seat to Pike's right left empty. Spock walked to the empty chair quickly, and someone—Olson, perhaps—quipped, "Glad you could join us." At the time Spock assumed this was an expression of genuine pleasure—but now he thinks that the speaker may have been using sarcasm.

It is very confusing.

Captain Pike introduced everyone. Steven Puri, the chief medical officer, a middle-aged human with light brown eyes and dark hair, extended his hand when Pike spoke his name. Spock looked at the doctor's hand for a moment, steeling himself to shake it, when the doctor shook himself with a little laugh and pulled back.

"Oh, sorry," he said. 'Where are my manners?"

Spock recognized Dr. Puri's question as a rhetorical one and said nothing—though he felt a ripple around the room and he had the sense that the others were surprised by his silence.

Olson, the chief engineer, didn't speak but nodded when Pike introduced him. Not someone who enjoyed unnecessary chatter, then. Spock gave him what he hoped was a grateful expression.

The other department heads were almost as quiet, though the operations manager and the shuttle flight deck director made some sort of humorous comment about _needing to stay on Spock's good side_, whatever that meant.

As baffling as that had been, however, the meeting was not problematic until Captain Pike turned to him and said, "Mr. Spock, would you like to tell us something about yourself?" and he answered truthfully, "No, sir, I would not."

Pike's face blanched but the officers all laughed. Pike looked around at them and then he, too, laughed, though Spock told Nyota later that the captain's laughter lacked the boisterousness of the officers.

"It wasn't real," she said, and he objected.

"He did laugh," Spock said, "but it was of a different quality and lagging in tempo from the others."

"I mean," she amended, "that he wasn't really laughing—wait, don't say anything—I mean, his laughter wasn't motivated from a feeling of amusement. He was…pretending….to join in the levity. To save face. Or to make light of what you had done."

"I had done nothing except tell the truth," Spock objected mildly, and Nyota shook her head.

Now as he finishes his lecture and opens the floor to questions, Spock sets aside his ruminations about the staff meeting and thinks instead about this evening and his required presence at a ceremonial function.

The pre-launch countdown has been underway for quite some time, but tonight Admiral Barnett is hosting what is being billed as a "ribbon cutting ceremony"—an odd term that does not describe what Spock knows will happen there. No one will cut any ribbons. Instead, he and the other _Enterprise_ officers will be expected to talk to the press corps about their pre-launch responsibilities.

The evening promises to be another event of questionable interest or value.

Refraining from sighing, Spock focuses on a surprisingly insightful question from a third year student who has never, until now, appeared to show much interest in the coursework. That she is motivated to seek a greater understanding of the topic is quite gratifying.

The disappointments of the last two days ebb away as he parses the student's question and offers her suggestions for more research—suggestions that she seems to take seriously.

Spock cannot help but contrast the pleasure he feels now with the discomfort earlier with the _Enterprise_ officers. Perhaps giving up the Academy is a mistake.

He resolves to set that thought aside until later. Right now he has to finish class, and then he has one hour and thirty-four minutes until the ceremony.

Travel time will consume twenty-seven minutes, including the walk from the lecture hall to his apartment and the hover bus to the far side of the campus where Admiral Barnett is hosting the event.

He will need to shower and dress—and possibly find time to eat. That leaves just enough time to meditate before the certain strains of meeting and talking to unfamiliar people.

He ends the class exactly on time, following the students filing out.

And then he does something that astonishes him later when he reflects on it.

Pulling his comm from his pocket, he calls Nyota and asks her to meet him at his apartment.

"Are you sure?" Her voice is tiny and unsatisfying through the speaker in his ear.

He considers her question carefully. If she comes to his apartment, he will not have time to meditate. Does he need to? Absolutely. Does he need her presence more?

"I am sure," he says.

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! They keep me working! Seriously—the more reviews fanfiction writers get, the faster they write!**

**Thanks, too, to StarTrekFanWriter, for her helpful comments. Check out her stories in my faves—including her newest one, "Tapestry."**


	3. Showtime

**Chapter Three: Showtime**

**Disclaimer: These characters are not mine and I do not profit from spying on them and reporting what I see. **

The press corps covering the Starfleet beat like to joke that starship officers are the most boring people in the galaxy doing the most interesting work in the universe.

Starfleet brass are a strange combination of military discipline and scientific stubbornness—and they are notoriously skittish about the media. Not that Starfleet isn't cooperative—their own media relations office is a model of decorum and industry—but the more traditional press complains from time to time that the people in charge aren't as forthcoming as they should be.

So Natalie isn't surprised that the press assigned to the _Enterprise_ ribbon cutting event are not exactly friendly—indeed, some of them seem bored, entertaining themselves at the free bar and only occasionally jotting down notes after cursory interviews with the people willing to talk to them for more than a few moments.

Chris, of course, is getting the lion's share of the attention—a good thing, since he revels in the limelight. Natalie nurses her drink slowly and watches as the reporters from each of the news agencies find time to corner Chris—probably all with the same questions, Natalie thinks. If Chris is irritated, he doesn't show it. His smiles and laughter are contagious, and in spite of herself, Natalie feels cheered.

The other officers are less interesting to the press—though they get their fair share of questions, too. Natalie herself is button-holed at the buffet table by a young woman writing for a local university newspaper. When she finds out that Natalie is leaving the service to start a family, however, she seems to lose interest quickly, excusing herself and heading across the room to where Dr. Puri is sitting alone, a small plate of canapés balanced on his knee.

Natalie glances at her chronometer and frowns—Spock is late. She wouldn't have thought tardiness to be one of his failings—yet both yesterday and today he has been the last to arrive. One thing more to talk to him about….

Chris is moving toward the microphone set up at the front of the room, and Natalie looks around again for Spock. She knows that the agenda calls for Chris to formally introduce his staff now, and she makes a motion with her hand to catch his attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm Christopher Pike, and I'd like to take this opportunity to introduce you to some of the most important people on Starfleet's flagship-but first, I see my attaché signaling to me."

He laughs and covers the microphone with his hand, and Natalie makes her way through the crowd until she is close enough to speak to him without being overheard by anyone else.

"Spock," she says. "He's not here."

She sees Chris flush instantly.

"What do you mean?" he says, his eyes flicking all around the room as if he can prove her wrong.

"I mean, he isn't here. I've looked."

"Call his comm," Chris says, and Natalie scolds herself. Of course she should have called him as soon as she realized he was late. That was a stupid oversight on her part. _I must be losing it_, she thinks, scrolling through her contacts and dialing up Spock's number.

Nothing, not even a messaging system. She looks up at Chris and shakes her head.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Chris says to the crowd. "Greg Olson, come here. Lieutenant Commander Olson served with me on the Farragut—so I know he can keep a ship going no matter how much knocking I give her—"

The crowd laughs politely at Chris's slightly risqué joke, though Natalie can see that Chris is angry and distracted. She hopes no one else can see it.

From the back of the room she hears a commotion and she turns to see a uniformed officer standing with Spock in the doorway. Something about Spock is out of kilter, though Natalie can't put her finger on what. The officer cranes his neck around the room and seems to be looking for someone.

"Thank you, Captain," Olson is saying at the microphone. "It's an honor to be the Chief Engineer of the best ship in the fleet. Ever since I saw my first ship in the yards at Leeds, I've wanted to get my hands on the engines of one…."

As Olson speaks, the officer moves slowly to the front of the room, Spock in his wake. Natalie watches their progress for a moment and then turns to where Chris is standing. She considers catching his attention—but she doesn't want to interrupt his introductions. The officer, however, has no such hesitation.

"Are you Captain Pike?" Natalie hears him ask. Chris nods and steps away from the front of the room where Olson is still talking into the microphone.

"What's this all about, Spock?" Chris asks Spock as Natalie steps beside him. Out of the corner of her eye she thinks she sees Spock sway, but when she pivots to look at him directly, he is standing motionless, at attention.

Before Spock can answer, however, the officer speaks again.

"Do you know this man?"

"Of course I do!" Chris says, his voice rising. "He's my first officer. What's he done?"

"If you'll vouch for him—"

"I vouch for him! Now explain this."

The silence in the room is terrible and sudden—Natalie realizes with a start that Olson is not speaking and that everyone is watching Chris and the officer instead.

"Sir," the officer says, "this man was involved in an altercation on a hover bus. We've taken his statement, but he has no identification."

"The attackers took my ID," Spock says, "and my comm. I was unable to alert you that I would be late—"

"Where are the attackers?" Chris asks the officer, and he shrugs.

"The driver couldn't say. They jumped off the bus as soon as it stopped. Third time in two weeks that bus route's been hit."

The officer motions with his head at the crowd around the room.

"The Starfleet route. More aliens on that route than anywhere else in the city. At least, that's what I think."

Natalie is shocked. After the Leiden bombing, the anti-alien protests that had become more vocal and more widespread had seemed to dissipate. Obviously the sentiment behind them has not.

"Are you hurt?" she asks Spock, and she sees Chris react.

"Are you?" Chris asks, and Spock says, "I am uninjured."

Natalie does a double take—something odd in his tone of voice suggests he is lying—but Vulcans don't lie, do they?

"Then why didn't you follow the attackers?" Chris asks with some asperity—and Spock's expression goes flat.

"The attackers were too many in number," he says slowly, "and they left in different directions."

"And this guy got a nasty bump on the head," the officer says, pulling out his digital notebook and a stylus. "I tried to take him to the medical center but he insisted on coming here instead."

Natalie looks at Spock again—if he got a bad knock, she can't tell. She looks up and sees Chris giving him a similar going over.

"Sign here," the officer says. "This says that you have positively identified him and he is who he says he is. Thanks."

The officer snaps the notebook shut and turns around, making his way back through the murmuring crowd.

Chris watches the officer exit and then seems to come to life.

"Come on," he says to Spock. "Time for your debut."

They walk toward the microphone and Olson steps back.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Chris says, "again I must apologize. This has been an evening of surprises—and quite frankly, disappointments."

He pauses for a moment, and Natalie can see that he is caught up in strong emotions.

"Those of us at Starfleet are committed to the ideals of the Federation—including the idea that humans and other species can work together in mutual cooperation to further each other's goals."

The room is silent, and Natalie looks around. A few of the reporters have taken their notepads back out and are jotting down Chris' words.

"Not everyone agrees with that idea—I understand that."

He pauses again, and then he says, "But I do not condone it. This is Commander Spock. I've tapped him as my first officer on the _Enterprise—_some of you remember his role at the Feynman Conference."

Natalie hears people react—rustling and soft murmurs undulate across the room like a wave.

"Not everyone thinks that someone like Commander Spock should serve on a starship. They are wrong."

For a moment Natalie is afraid that Chris is going to ask Spock to speak. Spock stands with his hands behind his back, his clothes not quite in order, and now that she sees him in a better light, she can see some greenish bruising on his cheek.

But Chris calls Dr. Puri up next and introduces him, and then each of the officers in turn, and finally Natalie herself.

The crowd claps politely at the end, and most of the visitors start wandering out of the room.

The reporters, however, zero in on Spock. From her place beside Chris she watches him stiffen—his discomfort evident even to her. Chris must be watching, too, because he says, "Come on," taking Natalie by the hand.

"Sorry guys," Chris says loudly, intercepting the reporters before they can get to Spock. "Captain's orders—no more excitement tonight."

"But Captain Pike—" one tall woman yells, and a shorter, stouter woman leans from behind her and says, "Commander, is it true that you were assaulted earlier this evening?"

Spock blinks and Natalie taps him quickly on the shoulder.

"This way," she says, and Spock follows her out the back entrance into the hallway. In the distance she can hear Chris making their apologies—loudly but forcefully.

The parking deck for headquarters has a restricted area for staff, and Natalie leads Spock to her hover car.

"Get in," she says, clicking open the door.

"What about Captain Pike?" Spock says, and Natalie hears a note of exhaustion that is new. The hospital, then—though he'll probably resist.

"He's a big boy," Natalie says. "He can find his own way home."

As she suspects, Spock objects when he realizes that she is taking him to the medical facilities on campus—but she ignores him and parks in the emergency entrance anyway.

"You can either walk in under your own steam—or I'll call security to come get you. But I'm not taking you anywhere else until somebody with a medical degree says I can."

"Commander Jolsen," Spock says, his dark eyes boring into hers, and she waits for his argument. To her surprise, it doesn't come.

Instead, he steps out of the car and says, "Thank you."

**A/N: So—some readers have questioned my showing Spock as someone who—despite having a human mother and Starfleet training—would say and do things that seem clueless or insensitive—or brutally honest. **

**But all through TOS and even in the reboot movie, Spock does just that. He annoys people and hurts their feelings from time to time—just like many people who also have human mothers and lots of training.**

**Including me. **

**I don't want to wear blinders when I write—so I show the less flattering aspects of characters as well as their admirable qualities. For me, that means showing Spock as someone who doesn't suffer fools gladly, who occasionally misreads people, who gets impatient when rituals or traditions or human niceties get in the way of efficiency.**

**He's not stupid. He is, however, a tragic hero in the sense that Shakespeare's heroes are tragic—not victims of circumstance, but people who wrestle with personal demons and manage to rise above them.**

**That journey has to start with the demons—or it isn't a struggle worth watching. Or learning from.**

**What do you think?**

**Okay—enough from the English teacher. Sorry, it is summertime, and I miss my students!**

**Thanks, as always, to StarTrekFanWriter, who gives me good advice. And thanks to you, dear reader, for leaving a review.**


	4. Revelation

**Chapter Four: Revelation**

**Disclaimer: I watch and report—and no one pays me to!**

Spock arrives ten minutes early for the next staff meeting but he is still the last to get there. Apparently Captain Pike's metric for formal meetings includes time beforehand for what Spock has heard him call _bull session chatter_. Or _team building_, Nyota calls it.

Either way, it is an unwelcome distraction.

Once again the other officers fall silent when he enters the room, though this time Spock has no question that they are talking about him.

"Here he is now," Captain Pike says, throwing his arm in Spock's direction. "He can tell you for himself."

As Spock makes his way around the conference table to the seat beside the captain, Lieutenant Min Wu, a thin, willowy woman whose dark hair is pulled up in the topknot currently in fashion on campus, directs her attention to him.

"Commander, I read about the hover bus attack. That must have been frightening."

Settling himself in the chair, Spock glances at her.

Is she being humorous? Lt. Wu is not smiling, but something in the crease of her brow suggests…what? Mischievousness? He hardly knows her. Why would she be joking with him—or about him?

More likely, Lt. Wu is unaware of her breech of etiquette in asking him to acknowledge an emotional reaction. At his scheduled meeting with Pike's attaché later, he will ask her to remind the officers about Vulcan cultural taboos.

"The attack was unexpected but not frightening," Spock says.

He looks up in time to see Lt. Wu dart her glance across the table at the officers sitting opposite her—and he hears several intakes of breath and the shifting of seats.

"But," Lt. Wu continues, looking not at him but at Chief Engineer Olson, "the news said six attackers were on the bus. Those are pretty frightening odds."

Spock hears the creak of leather as Captain Pike leans back in his seat.

"Well, Spock," he says, "is that right? Six?"

The tone of the captain's voice suggests amusement—though Spock cannot fathom why.

"Yes, Captain," Spock says quickly, and from the corner of his eye he sees Pike tilting his gaze at the other officers. The officers look down.

"Though six unarmed humans are hardly what I would call frightening odds."

There. As he speaks, Spock sees the officers snap their heads up. Pike's attaché lifts her gaze to the ceiling, and Captain Pike snorts loudly.

Clearly his comment has elicited their reaction; why they should react negatively to a simple statement of truth is baffling, however.

"Really!" the chief engineer exclaims.

"I am trained in several forms of Vulcan martial arts," Spock says. "Combined with my superior physical strength, I was not unduly concerned about their number."

Again he has the sense that his words are not well received.

"Aren't you special," Olson says. A rhetorical question, safe to ignore, so Spock says nothing. Captain Pike, however, sounds angry when he says, "Olson!"

"Sorry, Captain. I meant that Mr. Spock keeps getting singled out by this group of cranks. First in Leiden, and now on the bus—"

"I do not believe that I was personally targeted either time," Spock interjects. "The protesters in Leiden meant to disrupt the conference. I simply happened to be there as a participant."

He pauses for a moment and considers the effect of what he is saying. The officers around the table are looking at him carefully, so he continues.

"And I do not believe that the attackers on the bus knew of my presence until…."

Suddenly Spock stops.

The room is silent and Captain Pike prompts, "Until? What do you mean, Spock? They didn't see you?"

Spock pulls his hands off the table and crosses his arms across his chest.

"I cannot say for certain, but the bus was occupied by more than the legal maximum number of passengers—"

"You mean it was crowded?" Pike says, placing his hands on the armrests of his chair and swiveling to look directly at Spock.

"I said that, Captain," Spock says.

Pike snorts again.

"How does this relate to anything?"

"The bus was….crowded….and I was seated in the very back. The attackers entered the front of the bus at the intersection of Webster and Lombard—"

"Spock!" Pike says loudly. "Get to the point!"

Spock tilts his head, saying, "That was the point, Captain. You asked how the conditions on the bus related to my being unseen. I was at the back. The attackers were at the front. The number of passengers exceeded the number of seats and the aisle was full of people standing—"

Pike slams his hands down on the table.

"Then how to you explain why you were singled out?" Pike asks, and Spock chooses his words carefully.

"I did not say that I was singled out," he begins. This time Natalie is the one who interrupts him.

"Wait a minute," she says. "I heard that officer say that you had been assaulted. Are you saying you weren't?"

"The attackers and I were engaged in an….altercation," he says, blinking twice. "But only after I had incapacitated one of them—"

"You mean you threw the first punch?" Pike says. Spock recognizes a tone of incredulity in the captain's voice. Either the captain thinks Spock is being untruthful, or he is having difficulty imagining the situation.

This is the more likely explanation, and Spock begins to fill in the details.

"It was necessary, Captain," he says. "The attackers were harassing two off-world cadets and I…intervened."

Pike's voice has the same tone of disbelief Spock noted earlier.

"You…intervened? For two cadets?"

"An Andorian and a L'gurian. They were traveling from the main campus to the shopping district north of—"

"You threw the first punch?"

Why is Pike asking this again? Obviously Spock is remiss in supplying enough details.

"Technically, Captain, I did not _throw a punch_," he says, hoping that this time his explanation is clear. "I used a particular move in _suus mahna_ called—"

"Stop!" Pike says.

The lack of details, then, is not the problem. Spock looks at the captain more closely.

"These attackers? What were they doing before you intervened?"

This question gives Spock pause. He had observed them for only a few moments on the bus. Their whereabouts and their actions before they embarked are unknown.

"I am uncertain," he says, and Pike closes his eyes and throws his hands up.

"You hit someone without knowing why?"

"As I explained, I did not _hit_ them—"

Spock hears Pike exhale loudly and he sees Natalie make some motion with her hand. A signal for Pike, but saying what? Pike breathes in and sits back.

"Mr. Spock," Natalie says, leaning toward him from her chair on the other side of Pike. "What were the attackers doing which made you determine that you needed to intervene on the cadets' behalf?"

Finally, a question that is specific. Spock uncrosses his arms and says, "Both cadets were pulled out of their seats by the attackers. The attackers were loud in their disapproval of the cadets' presence on the bus. Once the cadets were on their feet, two of the attackers pushed them with excessive force into the side of the bus. As they did so, I made my way up the aisle and….intervened."

He looks around at the officers seated at the table. No one is looking at him. Instead, they are looking at their hands or the PADDS in front of them on the table. How odd.

Pike's hand is on his jaw, his fingers splayed over his mouth. Is he smiling? The captain has no cause to—Spock is certain that his comments have been factual and free of humorous content.

After a moment, Captain Pike lowers his hand.

"Very well," he says. He looks around at the officers seated before him, finally resting his gaze on Spock before giving a deep sigh.

"Now," Captain Pike says, "if you will scroll to item one on your agenda—"

X X X X X X X X X

"Count me out," Dr. Puri says, gathering his PADD and stylus and stowing them in his carrying case. "I like the guy."

"I'm not saying I _don't_ like the guy," Olson says from his seat across from the nearly deserted conference table, "but a wee bit of fun is definitely in order. Come on—don't be such a killjoy."

From her seat near the head of the table, Natalie eavesdrops shamelessly. Chris and most of the other officers have already left for separate department meetings; Spock has to meet students for a lab session this afternoon and Natalie is sitting in for him with the engineers at 1500—thirty minutes from now.

Until then, the crew not heading off to other meetings are chatting as the conference room empties—and Natalie lingers intentionally to take the emotional pulse of the staff.

As long as she has served with Chris, this has been her most valuable contribution to his leadership—her behind-the-scenes survey of who says what and when. That Chris has a reputation for being supernaturally _aware_ of things is partly due to her keeping her eyes and ears open at moments just like this.

"I have enough real work to do," Dr. Puri says, standing and moving toward the exit, "without spending time cooking up pranks."

Olson screws up his face and waves his hand dismissively.

"No! Not pranks! Innocent jokes! To make him feel like part of the crew."

Dr. Puri shakes his head and walks out.

"You in?" Olson says to Dana Edgerton, the operations manager who knows Pike from the Farragut as well.

"Sure, sure," Edgerton says, tugging a band from her long ponytail and gathering her hair up with her fingers before slipping the band back on. Natalie notes idly that Edgerton's efforts make her hair look even messier—though she probably doesn't care.

"What have you got in mind?"

"I'm still thinking," Olson says, grinning. He sees Natalie watching him and he says, "What about you, Commander? You've pulled some good stunts in your time. Want to have a little fun?"

It's true that Natalie has authored several good pranks in the past. Long, boring voyages almost demand something to relieve the pressure—and jokes among crew are expected.

But the young Vulcan Commander seems an unfair target. Something in his manner is oddly vulnerable—and a prank feels like an affront to his dignity.

Does he even understand humor? Or joking? Natalie doesn't think so—though in the back of her mind she seems to recall hearing Spock make a witticism or two. What were they?

Or maybe she was mistaken, and he never said anything funny. Certainly he didn't intend to be funny today.

"I've got a great idea for a prank," she says to Olson, who immediately sits up straighter and grins.

"I knew I could count on you! All that serious stuff the other day—that wasn't the Commander Jolsen I know," he says.

"Here's what you do," Natalie says softly, and Olson looks over his shoulder and leans closer. "Watch Commander Spock for a few days until you know his transport schedule."

She sees Olson's grin fade a fraction.

"I know, I know," she says reassuringly, "that sounds like a lot of work. But the pay off will be worth it."

"Okay," Olson agrees, his smile back.

"Then," Natalie continues, "find the six biggest, stupidest security red shirts you can and station them on the route Commander Spock takes most often. Every time he gets on the bus, your guys whip his ass. After awhile, he'll figure out that it's a prank."

Watching Olson's expression change from wicked glee to comprehension to anger is like watching storm clouds marching across the prairie—and Natalie can't resist adding one thing more.

"Oh, wait,' she says. "That won't work. You need _seven_ guys."

Now Olson is furious, and Natalie realizes that she has pushed him too hard.

"Lighten up," she says, punching him on the arm. "I get it—the Commander rubs you the wrong way. But sometimes you rub _me_ the wrong way—and I'm a better prankster than you are."

She smiles as sweetly as she can.

"And I know where to find you."

**A/N: Thanks for so many thoughtful reviews! You are a brainy bunch! And thanks to StarTrekFanWriter, who says that this chapter reminds her of the Abbott and Costello "Who's On First" routine. If you haven't seen it, track it down online—it's a classic!**


	5. Pranked

**Chapter Five: Pranked**

**Disclaimer: I see and report. That's all. No money changes hands.**

Nyota wakes with a start.

Despite wearing nothing and lying on top of the duvet, she is soaked, that's how hot the room is.

"Lights," she says, and she blinks painfully as the lamp beside the bed snaps on.

She looks around the room and sees her underwear and uniform folded neatly on top of the dresser—Spock's fastidious care, not her own. She slips them on quickly, surprised that the apartment is so quiet.

Padding down the hallway towards the living area, Nyota feels a growing unease at the silence and the dark. It isn't unusual for her to wake alone in Spock's bed—their sleep patterns are so wildly different that she rarely sees him asleep.

More often than not, after she falls asleep, he slips away to work quietly on his computer in the living area—or he might prepare a meal to have ready when she wakes.

She never spends an entire night in his apartment—to do so would be risky, even stupid—and so if she falls asleep, it is into a fitful restlessness that intrudes into her dreams and eventually forces her back up into consciousness.

The living room is also dark—a surprise—and Nyota makes her way slowly to the temperature pad beside the front door, thumbing the controls. The only time Spock sets the heat this high is when he is stressed. Has something happened?

The window shades on one side of the wall are partially open, the street light across the roadway shining in. The sofa is a black silhouette against the window—and as her eyes adjust to the dark, Nyota moves toward it.

Her toe hits the sofa first and she stumbles slightly. She hears a sigh then—like the wind sifting through the tops of trees, and she realizes that Spock is asleep on the sofa, his head propped up on the armrest, his left leg draped off the side.

Moving to the kitchen, she turns on the lights there and looks at the time. 0432—she's never gone back to her dorm this late. Even at this hour quite a few cadets will be rising for morning exercise—and the sports teams will be on the fields—or on the bay—soon for practice. If she goes now she risks being seen—and having to explain where she's been. On the other hand, being seen leaving Spock's apartment later in the morning is just as big a problem.

Leaving the kitchen light on, she goes back to the living area and kneels beside the sofa. One of Spock's arms is thrown across his chest; his other dangles awkwardly toward the floor. Nyota starts to reach for his hand but then stops herself. Does she really want to wake him?

After his first bumpy staff meeting earlier in the week, he has said little about his interactions with the _Enterprise_ officers, though she senses, more from the images she glimpses when they touch rather than from anything he says, that he is unhappy.

Even now his expression is not free—his brow furrowed, his mouth slightly parted, his breathing hot and shallow.

As Nyota sits on the floor beside him deciding whether to go back to her dorm or down the hall to bed, Spock startles her by opening his eyes and sitting up.

"I'm sorry! I woke you up!" she says, rocking back on her heels. "Why were you sleeping on the sofa?"

Only then does she notice that he is fully dressed—and not in his instructor's uniform, but in his science blues.

"I did not want to wake you," he says, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "When I got back, you were still asleep."

"What do you mean," Nyota says, "when you got back? Got back from where?"

Instead of answering, Spock leans over and touches his forehead to hers. He feels feverish, even for him—and Nyota leans away and places her fingers to his face.

"What's wrong?" she asks aloud, but even as she says the words, she knows. A wave of confusion rolls over her—as if she were inside a giant kaleidoscope of swirling pictures. There is the shuttle depot near the Embarcadero where Captain Pike has his office—and then the scene shifts to the _Enterprise_, no longer skeletal as when she saw it in person three years ago, but fleshed out by the construction team at Riverside.

Over everything is the hum of night noises—the click of traffic signals, the light patter of rain, the distant whine of an overhead transport docking. And the smells—of oily tarmac, of red dust, of…cornfields?

Nyota pulls back her hand and says, "I don't understand. You flew to Iowa tonight?"

"I received instructions to do so," he says. "At 0130 my computer registered a notification of an emergency at the shipyard—and I went."

Nyota is startled. He left the apartment several hours ago and she hadn't known?

The shuttle hop to Iowa is only a few minutes—less time, in fact, than the walk across campus to the transport depot. Spock has flown to Riverside several times this week—but always at a decent hour.

"What was the emergency?" Nyota asks, and Spock shakes his head slowly.

"There was none. I am at a loss to explain the notification to go. Nor could Captain Pike."

"He was there?"

"He was in San Francisco. I called him when I arrived at Riverside and could not ascertain the nature of the emergency."

When she is angry, Nyota has been known to shout and scream, startling people who do not know her well.

When she is very, very angry, she becomes so quiet that she whispers, her eyes narrowed in fury, her voice so choked with emotion she feels she is reining in a wild animal.

For several moments she is so angry that she can't speak. She watches as Spock steps to the temperature pad and thumbs the controls—and though she is already uncomfortably hot, she says nothing when the fan kicks in and the warm air swirls from the floor registers.

He holds out his hand to her—uncharacteristically affectionate—and she takes his fingers gingerly in her own. Without discussing what they will do, they walk back to the bed and climb in, both still fully dressed.

They lie facing each other and Spock pulls Nyota to him, resting his chin on the top of her head. She tries to make sense of the swirl of his emotions—but the heat and the hour start to ebb away her own anger, and before she knows what is happening, she feels her eyelids flutter and herself slipping into that peculiar fugue state that precedes sleep.

Something flits in her mind—something she wants to say before giving into sleep—and she forces herself to rouse.

"I think you've been pranked," she says, and she senses Spock's puzzlement.

"Someone's played a joke on you," she says. "A dumb joke. Whoever did it probably thought they were waking you up…."

And then she slides into a world of unknowing, or at least, a world of knowing something different.

X X X X X X X X X

Sunlight is coming through the hall windows when Nyota wakes again—this time in a panic.

"What time is it!" she calls, and Spock stands at the doorway immediately.

"You don't have time for a shower," he says, "but I've toasted a bagel for you to take with you. If you catch the C bus at the corner stop, you can get to your class with four minutes to spare."

Nyota jumps out of the bed, smoothing the front of her rumpled uniform with her hands.

"I can't believe I slept so late!" she yells, pulling on her boots. "Why didn't you wake me earlier? What have you been doing?"

Walking ahead of her down the hall to the kitchen, Spock picks up a paper bag and hands it to Nyota as she tugs open the front door.

"As I said, I have been toasting a bagel for you—and making some coffee." At this he hands her a cardboard mug with a closed top.

"And," he says, leaning down and brushing his lips across her cheek, "I have been researching human pranks."

**A/N: I LOVE that the characters are so real to you that you are annoyed with them (or me!) from time to time when they do things that disappoint you. Chris Pike, in particular, has let Spock down several times so far in this fic, prompting some of you to comment. You are exactly right—he's not at his best at the moment—though I would argue that showing him when he is less than we know he can be is not the same as depicting him out of character.  
**

**Just like all of us, Pike has times when he shines and moments when he doesn't—and you shall see why.**

**Later. Hang in there.**

**Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing. And thanks especially to StarTrekFanWriter for all her suggestions. Check out her newest story "The Tapestry" in my faves. **


	6. HearttoHeart

**Chapter Six: Heart-to-Heart**

**Disclaimer: Spying only, not profiting.**

As a concession to Spock's busy teaching schedule, Natalie Jolsen suggests they meet in his office on campus instead of having him travel all the way to Chris' office near the Embarcadero. She has another reason, too, one that she hasn't even told Chris about.

She wants to see what Spock is like with his students.

His students consistently rate him "challenging" and "demanding" on their formal evaluations at the end of each course. No surprise there.

But they also give him high marks for patience and helpfulness.

That is surprising. He doesn't strike Natalie as someone who suffers fools gladly—or who would spend time explaining anything twice.

Natalie can imagine what he is like as a lecturer—clear and precise, probably even pedantic.

What she cannot imagine is him teaching one-on-one—being _patient_ or _helpful_. She decides to drop in early and watch him in the lab.

The language lab is on the third floor of a nondescript columned building near the east entrance to the campus. Natalie gives herself the guilty luxury of taking the lift instead of the stairs—in a few more months she won't need to pass any more Starfleet physicals and can take the lift as often as she likes. That thought makes her smile—and then sigh.

Except for the gentle whirring of the air handler, the hallway in front of the lab is quiet. Natalie's footsteps echo loudly as she makes her way down the hall.

The lab door is open, and when she steps up to the sill, the lone student sitting on the back row of banked computers turns his head and gives her a cursory look.

Spock is across the room bent over the shoulder of a young cadet. His hands are behind his back, his posture self-consciously distant—but something in his manner suggests his willingness to stand there until he is no longer required.

He casts a quick glance and registers Natalie's presence—she sees him raise one eyebrow a fraction—and then continues speaking softly to the cadet seated before him.

Making her way to the instructor's console at the back of the room, Natalie takes a mental note of the cadets working in the lab. She counts seven—three men and four women hunched over their keyboards and peering up at their monitors with equal intensity. She hears footsteps behind her and turns in time to see Spock's teaching assistant enter the lab.

Natalie recalls the short conversation they had shared on the way to the Feynman Conference—when Cadet Uhura had told Natalie about Spock's mother's regular medical treatments to counteract the radiation from Vulcan's sun. It may have been that conversation that humanized Spock for Natalie—and had made her decide he had more to him than first appeared.

Or it may have been her later conviction that the young Vulcan commander and his aide are involved in some way—a revelation that also humanized him—though Natalie has worried since that she might not be the only person who suspects. A reprimand about an inappropriate relationship would be both an embarrassment and an inconvenience—for Chris as much as for Spock.

Cadet Uhura nods at Natalie and then walks to the student working on the row nearest the door. He hands his headset up to her and she tinkers with something on the side—handing it back and waiting until he slips it over his ears and gives her a thumbs up.

For the next five minutes Natalie watches. Soon she recognizes a pattern—a student will signal a need for help and Cadet Uhura approaches first, talking at length with the student. Next Uhura calls Spock over, relaying information to him and stepping back as he continues the conversation with the student. After a moment Uhura moves on to another student, and the pattern continues.

That is enlightening.

The Vulcan may be too formidable to ask directly—but his aide is so approachable that during the few minutes that Natalie watches, most of the students either ask her for help or speak to her in greeting.

_Patient_ and _helpful_.

Not that Spock isn't patient and helpful—but he and his aide are clearly working as a tag team here.

Natalie tucks that information away and follows Spock out of the lab 20 seconds before their meeting is scheduled. He walks to the end of the hall and unlocks his door, standing aside and watching Natalie pass him.

"Commander," she says as she settles herself in the chair opposite his desk.

Spock says nothing but inclines his head in her direction as he sits down.

There—that lack of verbal response is just the sort of issue Natalie has resolved to address with him. But how to begin?

"When I suggested this time to meet," Natalie says, "I thought your lab would be over by now. I apologize."

Natalie sees something indefinable flicker across Spock's face. Annoyance? Surprise?

"The lab is over," Spock says, his tone even and not betraying anything Natalie can sense, "though students often choose to stay and work ahead. When it is not inconvenient, I extend the hours to accommodate them."

"Oh," Natalie says, "that's generous. And your aide doesn't mind the extra hours?"

Again something flickers through his expression, and Natalie has a distinct impression that he resents her question.

"Cadet Uhura is free to work the extra hours if she chooses," he says, "but her presence is not required. Indeed, the TA union has strictures governing the working conditions of the assistants."

He sits up stiffly and puts his hands in his lap. So he _is_ annoyed about something, though Natalie isn't sure what.

"I didn't mean to imply anything untoward on your part," she says, watching him closely. "I'm sure you follow the rules."

At this he blinks—and Natalie is instantly sorry that she has made him uncomfortable.

To cover her own embarrassment, she hands him the small PADD she has brought with her.

"Here's the list of things I wanted to go over today," she says, hazarding a glance at him. His dark eyes flick quickly as he scrolls through the PADD. Lifting his gaze, he offers the PADD back to Natalie.

"That's your copy," she says, pulling out her own PADD from her satchel.

"Unnecessary," Spock says, placing the PADD on the desk near Natalie's hand.

Natalie takes a deep breath.

"Okay, let's start with that."

Spock's brows crease for a moment but he says nothing.

"Commander," she says, "you may have noticed some….negative reactions to your behavior in our recent staff meetings."

She waits for Spock to acknowledge her comment but he stares ahead, impassive.

"Like just now," she goes on. "I realize that you have probably memorized the agenda I gave you—"

"Affirmative."

"But you don't need to remind those of us with human failings—" Here Natalie offers a smile—a waste of her energy, she realizes. "Well, when everyone else around you is taking notes and relying on them, your refusal makes you seem…."

Spock locks his eyes on hers.

"Alien?" he says, and Natalie hears heat in his tone.

"Arrogant," Natalie counters.

Spock wrinkles his brow and looks down for a moment.

"Commander," Natalie says, "you are smart enough to know when to use human niceties to make your colleagues more comfortable. On a starship, collegiality is key—and Captain Pike has always set a high value on it."

Folding his hands together, Spock leans forward.

"This collegiality—does it involve pranks?"

Natalie is so caught off guard that she actually splutters.

"Wha-what?"

"Pranks," Spock continues. "Practical jokes. Incidents designed to hold up the victim in a negative light, causing shame or embarrassment."

"I know what a prank is," Natalie says. "Why are you asking about them?"

She feels an uneasiness in her stomach, remembering Olson's blather last week after the staff meeting. She thought she had headed him off—but perhaps not.

"I believe that I have been…pranked," Spock says, and he tells Natalie about the non-existent emergency he had been called to at the Riverside Shipyard.

"Yeah, that's pretty typical—" she begins, but Spock continues.

"When Captain Pike asked his officers to bring a bagged lunch to the last meeting so we could work without interruption, my meal disappeared from the refrigeration unit," he says, and Natalie frowns. "And two days ago someone had a chocolate birthday cake delivered to my apartment."

He pauses for a moment.

"It was not my birthday, and Vulcans do not consume chocolate."

Natalie sighs.

"I know."

"So, Commander Jolsen," Spock says, sitting back from the desk, "are these actions necessary for collegiality? They seem to me," he says, pausing slightly, "to be mean-spirited, or at least misinformed, if they are intended to be humorous."

He looks down again and then says, "But the complexities of human pranks escape me."

What to say? Natalie puts her PADD down, the list irrelevant.

"Spock," she says, "people play pranks for lots of reasons—sometimes out of friendship, sometimes not."

Tapping her finger on her PADD, she says, "Sometimes, your best defense is a strong offense. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I do not," Spock says, and Natalie sighs again.

"Find out who the pranksters are—that shouldn't be hard. Then give them as good as they've given you."

Spock tilts his head—Natalie has noted before that he does this when he is weighing his options.

"You are suggesting I get retribution?" he asks, and Natalie shrugs.

Natalie purses her lips. "Retribution is too harsh a word, but until you at least respond in kind, the pranksters are going to continue. Show them that you can play—"

Spock opens his mouth to interject, and she heads him off.

"If you can beat them at their game, they will stop. They will respect you. Or fear you. Either way, your lunch will stop disappearing."

She waits for Spock to react, but he drains his face of expression and looks as impassive as she has ever seen him.

"I will certainly take your counsel under advisement," he says, standing, and Natalie recognizes a dismissal when she sees it.

**A/N: If you are enjoying the story so far—or even if you aren't—let me know….your reviews keep fanfiction writers working for you!**

**Thanks to StarTrekFanWriter for her suggestions. Check out her stories in my faves—including her newest, "Tapestry." **


	7. Cooking Up Trouble

**Chapter Seven: Cooking Up Trouble**

**Disclaimer: Labor of love—really!**

"What the hell is this?"

Greg Olson holds up a clear covered bowl of lavender-colored liquid.

"This isn't my lunch," he says, looking into the open bag in front of him on the large conference table. "Someone must have picked up my bag."

He looks at the _Enterprise_ officers sitting around him—none who have yet opened their lunch bags. As they do, their expressions of dismay join the chief engineer's.

All twelve officers, including Captain Pike and Natalie, have identical lunches—the mysterious liquid and a bottle of water.

"What is it?" Captain Pike says, opening his container and sniffing.

"Plomeek soup," Spock says. He is as surprised as everyone else when he opens his own lunch and sees the same thing. This morning he had cut up vegetables and included a slice of whole wheat bread as his afternoon meal. The soup looks authentic, and he pulls a spoon from the bottom of the bag and takes a tentative taste.

Not as good as his mother's—or even his own—but passable.

"Well, where's my lunch?" Olson says loudly. "I don't want this trash!"

From his seat beside Captain Pike, Spock hears Natalie laugh.

"Ah, Olson," she says, dipping her spoon in the soup, "I seem to remember one day not too long ago when Mr. Spock's lunch went missing."

She puts the spoon in her mouth and Spock hears her smacking her lips.

"I think this is called payback," she says, and several of the officers snicker.

"I didn't take his bloody lunch," Olson says. "That was Dana—so tell me where my lunch is."

Olson looks at Spock and adds, "Sir."

"I have no idea," Spock says, and he hears more snickers. That's odd—he has not said anything humorous, yet the officers find his ignorance about the lunches funny. He looks at Natalie and she raises her spoon at him in the same way he has seen people lifting glasses for a toast.

"Well done, Commander," she says, smiling.

"I want my lunch!" Olson says, and Spock hears Dana Edgerton say, "Simmer down, Olson. He got us fair and square."

But Olson stands up instead, and Spock senses Captain Pike sitting up straighter and turning to the engineer.

"Olson—" he says, but a commotion at the door interrupts him.

Rushing in, Dr. Puri tumbles his satchel and lunch bag onto the conference table.

"Sorry, everyone," he says, gathering his things into a pile in front of his chair. "I had to stay late at the medical center—a group of second years got into a bit of a dust up with some locals—"

"That same Earth United crowd?" Pike asks, and Spock notes an edge of anger or concern in his voice.

Dr. Puri sits at last and says, "No idea, Captain. Lots of stitches—a couple of broken fingers. I didn't have time to talk in depth to any of the cadets about the details. I left McCoy to finish up—he might know something. Do you want me to call him?"

Dr. Puri holds up his comm but Pike shakes his head.

"Whoa!" Dr. Puri says, setting down his comm on the table and pulling the container of plomeek soup from his lunch bag. "What's this?"

"Vulcan Plomeek soup," Natalie says, lifting another spoonful to her mouth. "It's good, too."

To Spock's eye, Dr. Puri seems less nonplussed than the other officers—perhaps because his attention is still on the welfare of the injured cadets.

Or as a vegetarian himself, he may welcome tasting another dish that fits his dietary restrictions.

Either way, Dr. Puri eats his lunch with relative good grace—unlike the chief engineer, who eats nothing.

"I like your sort of prank," Dr. Puri says as he puts his empty bowl back into his lunch bag a few minutes later.

"I assure you," Spock says, "I am not the author of this prank."

He hears Olson snort—a sound that seems to indicate disbelief.

"In my research on human pranks," Spock says, directing his attention to the chief engineer, "I understood that the perpetrators of the pranks try to hide their identity. Is this incorrect?"

"You researched human pranks?" Olson says, flattening his lips together.

"That's right, Commander," Natalie says quickly, and for a moment, Spock is uncertain if she is answering his question or Olson's. She is looking at him—so he assumes she means that pranks are, indeed, usually anonymous.

"It would be illogical, then," he says, casting his gaze around the table, "to identify myself as the prankster in this incidence by substituting a well-known Vulcan dish for the prepared lunches."

"Good point," Natalie says, but Olson frowns.

"There's where he's being clever," he says, and Spock considers what else he can say to prove his truthfulness. Before he can speak, however, Captain Pike wads up his own lunch bag and tosses it into the trash recycle bin in the corner.

"Gentlemen, for what it's worth, the lunch was good—no matter who provided it—and I, for one, want to move on. We have a lot to cover before we adjourn."

X X X X X X X X X

"So, how many cadets got hurt?" Natalie asks.

She and Dr. Puri are the only officers left—the afternoon meeting finally over, they are sitting opposite each other at the conference table sipping hot tea. Spock was the last of the officers to leave, and Natalie had the impression that he was waiting to talk to her—probably about the prank.

Good for him. She's tickled that he took her advice—and in such a clever way! The logistics of swapping out the lunches must have taken some planning—or maybe a confederate.

Natalie tries to remember if Spock had left the conference room before lunch. She isn't sure—but he must have.

"What cadets?" Dr. Puri says, and Natalie feels a _frisson_ shake her.

"The ones you were late to the meeting for?" she says, raising her eyebrows.

"Oh, the cadets this morning. Ah, I didn't get an exact count."

Something's up. Natalie hasn't survived this long as Pike's second-in-command without picking up some of his horse sense.

"Okay," she says slowly, putting her cup of tea on the table. "Maybe you can answer this. Were there _any_ cadets? At all?"

Natalie hears Dr. Puri choke on his tea.

"Of course, there are always cadets getting hurt, banged up—that sort of thing. This morning was no different."

"Really," Natalie says, lacing her fingers together and leaning back in her seat.

"What are suggesting, Commander?" Dr. Puri says, though Natalie notices that he doesn't look at her as he talks.

"Let's see," Natalie says, "I'm suggesting that it's an amazing feat on Commander Spock's part to somehow substitute plomeek soup for your lunch when you weren't even here."

Dr. Puri sets his mug down and scratches his temple with his right hand.

"Oh, that," he says, finally looking up at Natalie.

"Yeah, oh that."

"Look, I like this guy, but he's like a babe in the woods. They are eating him alive. I felt like…well, I know I shouldn't have, but I felt like he needed a hand."

Natalie lets out a deep breath and shakes her head.

"So, Spock makes the soup and you do the old switcheroo while we were—"

"No!" Dr. Puri says. "He had nothing to do with it! A friend of mine made the soup—I told her I was hosting some Vulcan healers for a conference…."

"Aren't you the masterful liar," Natalie says, grinning. "Spock doesn't know how lucky he is to have you—"

"Don't tell him," Dr. Puri says hurriedly.

"Why not?" 

Looking down into his mug, Dr. Puri says, "I don't think he would….like it….or understand it, really. I don't want to offend him. Let's keep this our secret."

Natalie lifts her mug again and swirls the last of the tea before draining it.

"You have hidden depths, Doctor," she says. "Remind me to stay on your good side."

X X X X X X X X

"What I do not understand," Spock says later that night to Nyota, "is why he did it."

They are curled together on the sofa, her back against his chest, after a light supper of fruit and yogurt-Spock in his gym clothes, Nyota still in her red uniform. Even through the heavy material, she feels him radiating extra heat—from the afternoon workout, or perhaps because he is stressed by the bafflement of the day.

"Dr. Puri's a nice guy," Nyota speculates, "so maybe he was just tired of seeing you get the short end of the stick."

"The short—"

"A raw deal….mistreated….you know, when someone bullies another—"

She has a fleeting glimpse of Vulcan schoolboys—and she knows that Spock is remembering the bullying he endured when he was young. He leads her away from that memory quickly, and she senses….what? Embarrassment? Shame?

No. Anger.

Craning her neck up, she looks backwards to his face, but his expression is completely masked. No one looking at him would have a clue that he is reliving a moment of fury in his memory.

"Hey," she says, calling him back, "he's in your corner. That ought to make you feel…"

She hesitates, waiting to feel his flash of impatience as she comments on his feelings, but through his touch she feels only affection—and curiosity as he continues to ponder Dr. Puri's motives.

"You ought to feel….glad….and accepted. Yes, that's it. Accepted. Dr. Puri made sure everyone thought you pulled the prank so they would back off."

This time she feels Spock's curiosity blossom into real confusion.

"I fail to see how a prank is proof of being accepted," he says.

"Dr. Puri pulled it on your behalf," Nyota says. "He accepts who you are—he wants good things for you. Does that make sense?"

"Are you suggesting that I should thank him? For his intervention on my behalf?"

Nyota is quiet for a moment. She's never met the doctor, but from other things Spock has told her, she imagines that he is compassionate and intelligent. His questions in staff meetings are never trivial or off-topic; more than once he has left early or arrived late because of other commitments, usually to charity wards where he spends much of his free time.

"I don't know," she says, looking back over her shoulder at Spock's face.

"In that case, I think not," he says. "I am uncertain about human pranks. Apparently, anonymity is an important factor. The doctor may be upset to know that his responsibility in the prank is known."

Nyota turns her head forward and snuggles back. Spock encircles her with his arms, pulling her closer.

"Then keep his secret," Nyota says.

And then, as an afterthought, she adds, "I'm glad he's going to be on the _Enterprise_."

**A/N: Sadly, we know what happens to Dr. Puri on the Enterprise soon enough during the Battle of Vulcan. **

**More mischief coming up in the next chapter.**

**Thanks to StarTrekFanWriter for her help! And thanks to you, dear reader, for leaving a review. Let me know what you think.**


	8. The Usual Suspects

**Chapter Eight: The Usual Suspects**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing here and make no money from sharing it with you.**

Even to Spock, Lt. Wu appears agitated.

While the other department heads are making their reports, she jiggles her leg up and down, squints her eyes, and rubs her hands.

If Captain Pike notices, he doesn't comment. Likewise, his aide seems oblivious to the lieutenant's distress.

Finally Captain Pike calls on Lt. Wu and she launches into a breathless account of the difficulty of requiring everyone on her staff to do double duty—especially right when her own vacation is fast approaching.

"I just don't see how we can get it done in time, Captain," she says, her brows knit, her tone of voice odd. At first Spock can't identify the emotion she is displaying, but then it comes to him.

Lt. Wu is feeling _aggrieved._

_Aggrieved_: feeling troubled or distressed; a perception of being mistreated; resentful for wrongs committed against someone.

Why she should feel this way is a mystery. The pre-launch schedule is busy but not unreasonable. Until now, Lt. Wu has not complained about the workload or the pace. Is the upcoming off-duty time somehow impacting her ability to complete her work?

That doesn't seem likely, though he doesn't know her very well. She may be the kind of person who accepts more responsibility than she is capable of successfully completing.

The longest conversation he has ever had with her was at the first staff meeting when she implied that his encounter with the attackers on the bus was something frightening. At the time he found her mildly impolite but not malicious—though on reflection, he wonders if she might be behind some of the pranks.

Even if she is, that doesn't explain her current state of aggrievement.

"I understand the need to keep the inventory updated," she says to Captain Pike, sitting at his usual spot at the head of the conference table, "but asking us to visually inspect the contents of every single case now—after we have already sealed them—well, sir, we've had to reopen over fourteen thousand shipping crates so far—and that's just the stuff coming from Riverside. That doesn't even include the materiel from the other yards."

Pike taps his stylus on his PADD and says, "Say again? You are having to do what?"

Lt. Wu actually huffs—Spock is astonished to hear her do it not once, but twice. He darts a glance at Captain Pike and sees a look of annoyance creep over his features.

"Sir, I don't understand," Lt. Wu begins, "why you ordered a visual inspection after the packing was almost finished. Surely that should have been done _before _the crates were sealed. Opening everything to check the inventory will put us weeks behind schedule—"

Spock sees Captain Pike's face flush red. Anger, then, or distress.

"Let me get this straight," Pike says to Lt. Wu. "You are opening every already-packed box to do another inventory—in addition to the inventory you already did. Why?"

Lt. Wu closes her eyes and sighs.

"As I said, Sir, it is your order. Monday—remember? You sent a visual inspection order. My department has been working on it ever since."

From the angle where he is sitting next to Pike, Spock sees something change in the captain's expression.

"Lieutenant," he says, his voice low and soft, "I never sent any such order."

Holding her PADD up with both hands, Lt. Wu says, "Sir, here it is!"

Captain Pike reaches out and takes the PADD and looks over it. Then he hands it to Spock.

After tapping though several screens, Spock says, "A forgery, Captain. Though a very good one."

Lt. Wu's face twists into an unreadable expression.

"Any idea who did this?" Pike asks, and Spock says, "No, sir, though it would require an advanced level of computing skill."

"Just for fun, Mr. Spock," Captain Pike says, his voice not sounding amused at all, "who here in this room—this room of people who seem to have an inordinate fondness for pranks—is capable of doing such a thing? Sending an order with my official seal—clever enough to fool someone as smart as Lt. Wu?"

With that Captain Pike's gaze lingers on Lt. Wu; she says nothing but sits breathing heavily. Spock watches her warily.

"Myself, Chief Engineer Olson, Lt. Commander Sizemore, and Commander Jolsen."

"I notice that you don't list me," Captain Pike says, and Spock says immediately, "No, Sir. I do not judge your encryption skills sufficient."

"I see," Pike says, and Spock has the distinct impression that he is surprised. It is true, however. The captain is an excellent pilot and a better than fair mechanic, but his computer rating is half of Spock's.

"And of those four people you listed, who would have the motivation or reason to send a forged order to Lt. Wu?"

"Unknown, Captain. I cannot speculate on the motives of others."

"And your own motivation, Commander? What about speculating on that for us?"

"I did not author this forged document, Captain."

"Do you know who did?"

"Negative."

"Do you have an idea who might have?"

Spock pauses for a moment before answering. Chief Engineer Olson is an admitted prankster, though he appears to be a close friend with Lt. Wu, and Spock's research into pranks suggests that close friends resist the kinds of jokes that would result in enmity—and Lt. Wu is certainly angry now.

Lt. Commander Sizemore's department works closely with Lt. Wu's; any change in Lt. Wu's schedule would also negatively impact Lt. Commander Sizemore. That he would inconvenience himself and his department in order to play a prank seems unlikely.

As Captain Pike's aide, Natalie Jolsen has access to his key codes that would make the forgery possible—though her commitment to the launch date seems in conflict with any slowdown in work. Her own release from Starfleet will coincide with the launch of the _Enterprise_—and she has said repeatedly that she is eager to begin life out of the service. Delaying the launch means delaying her personal goals—which also seems unlikely.

"Negative, Captain," he says, and then adds, "though on purely empirical grounds, my own involvement appears to be the most logical."

"But you said you didn't do it."

"No, Sir, I did not."

"Then we are back to square one."

Captain Pike hands the PADD back to Lt. Wu.

"Lieutenant, cancel the visual inspection and see what you can do to make up for the lost time."

He turns to his officers sitting around the table and says, "And everyone else, you are tasked with speeding up your own production to offset what we've lost in operations. Everyone's in this together—and everyone is going to have to work harder to get us out of this fix. Dismissed."

X X X X X X X X X

Their usual bar is almost empty, which suits Natalie and Chris just fine. For a change they are both nursing warm bottles of beer instead of scotch and bourbon, which means they are drinking less and talking more than usual.

"They're all convinced Spock did it," Natalie says, peeling the label from the top of her beer bottle.

"That's what you wanted, wasn't it?" Pike motions to the bartender to bring him another bottle. "You?" Pike asks Natalie, but she shakes her head. Beer is not her poison—and she still has half a bottle left.

"He's the odds-on favorite—computer whiz, and all that," she says. "His encryption skills are up to snuff—unlike someone I know."

She leers at Chris and he laughs before taking a swig of his beer.

"Yeah, well, what do you know. But he pegged you in the list of usual suspects. I wasn't expecting that."

The bartender sets a bottle in front of Pike and takes the empty one back with him to the end of the bar.

"You shouldn't have been surprised," Natalie says. "I keep telling you, don't underestimate him. Use him, Chris. That's why I want him there—you need him."

"You're telling me that you expected him to finger you as the prankster? You weren't surprised?"

"Okay," Natalie says, grinning, "I was a little flustered when he put my name on the list—but no one seemed to take that suggestion seriously. If anything, they would blame Olson before me. But anyway," she says, rubbing her finger in the grain of the wood on the bar, "they think Spock can do magic with the computers now—and they'll stop trying to get his goat."

"And if they don't?" Pike says, and Natalie takes another deep sip of her beer.

"Then you'll have to convince them otherwise," Natalie says.

X X X X X X X X X

They are rarely out together at night.

During the day, an instructor and his teaching assistant can visit a restaurant for lunch, stroll across the campus, sit on the bench outside the student union and chat—make tea in the breakroom and have a private conversation—and no one can point to anything improper.

But once the sun goes down, all bets are off.

Suddenly a meal in a restaurant is a date; a stroll in the moonlight is suggestive; a bench is a place where lovers meet; a cup of tea and private conversation are invitations to intimacy.

So Nyota is surprised when her comm chimes after supper and she hears Spock asking her to meet him for a walk along the waterfront.

In the daylight, the waterfront is a tourist destination—a place to charter boats or sit at a sidewalk café for a glass of wine.

In the dark, the waterfront is both beautiful and mildly threatening, the way amusement park rides offer the near-certainty of safety and a niggling doubt about their danger.

At any rate, Nyota is rarely anxious when she is with Spock—at least not for her safety. She meets him at the north gate of the campus, the one closest to her dorm, and they fall into step together and head toward the sound of the fog horns and buoy bells.

The moon is the tiniest crescent, and as they walk in and out of the circles of light cast on the ground by streetlamps, Nyota notes its place in the sky—first over her left shoulder, and then straight ahead as they near the bay.

As she hurries across the street to the raised walkway that follows the curve of the water, Nyota stumbles slightly and Spock grabs her hand. Immediately his thoughts flood her; she feels him pulling back, raising his shields, and she thinks, _Don't go. Tell me why we are here._

_Come,_ he says, and he leads her up the walkway to where an ancient bollard stands—the thick metal cylinder worn slick from the mooring ropes of countless ships.

Nyota reaches out her hand and rubs it along its nubby top. She thinks of the old tall ships—the windjammers and schooners, the brigantines and sloops—temporarily tethered to the land by this strange, strong metal post.

"When I first came to San Francisco," Spock says aloud, "I used to walk here in the evenings. This bollard was my point of meditation—I found the symbolism pleasing."

"What do you mean?" Nyota asks, and Spock lifts his hand to the sky.

"There," he says. "In the winter, 40 Eridani is visible above the horizon. I could see the sun of my home world without leaving this one."

"Like a ship tied to the dock," Nyota finishes. Spock is rarely this metaphoric—this poetic.

He turns to Nyota and touches her face with his fingers, and she knows that he is thinking now of the _Enterprise_. The idea of the launch brings him both pleasure and pain—and she sees herself from his vantage point, like something lovely and ephemeral—a butterfly, or a rainbow. The image makes her laugh.

Spock's eyebrows shoot up into his bangs—and that makes her laugh again.

"When that ship leaves," she says, rubbing her hand back over the top of the bollard, "I'm going to be on it, too."

A warmth seeps into her despite the chilly wind blowing off the bay—and Nyota steps so close that their bodies are touching. She reaches up and tugs his hands down around her waist, and then she slides her arms around his neck.

She waits for a kiss that doesn't come.

Something distracts him—she feels it more than sees it—and she looks up at him and says, "What are you thinking about?"

Spock tips his forehead to hers and says, "Why would Commander Jolsen deliberately sabotage the pre-launch schedule?"

Nyota steps back.

"What?"

He tells her that he has calculated the odds of each of the suspects—and that Commander Jolsen has a 93.45% chance of being the perpetrator of the prank on Lt. Wu.

"The actual launch schedule will, in the end, not be adversely affected," Spock adds. "The other departments are tasked with making up the time."

"So, everyone is taking a little hit," Nyota says, and she sees Spock considering her choice of words.

"Affirmative," he says at last, and she nods.

"Then it makes sense."

"Explain."

"Commander Jolsen just gave you a gift," Nyota says. "Nobody on that staff is going to dare pull another prank—because if they do, it comes back to bite them."

Spock looks down at the bollard and back at the water of the bay.

"I believe that Commander Jolsen would like to be Captain Pike's first officer on the _Enterprise_."

"She had that chance," Nyota points out. "And she turned it down."

She slides her arms back around Spock's neck.

"That's another little gift she gave you," she says, and Spock screws his face into what Nyota thinks of as his pensive look.

"Should I thank her?" he says, and she shakes her head.

"Nope," she says, leaning up and kissing his cheek. "She already knows."

**A/N: One last chapter coming up!**

**In the spirit of merry pranksters, I considered holding that chapter hostage until 48 people post reviews...or until 48 hours pass, whichever happens first!  
**

**Hahahahahahah...But I won't do that...or will I...  
**

**Thanks to everyone who reads and reviews. You keep fanfiction writers going. And thanks to StarTrekFanWriter for reading and making suggestions. Check out her many fics in my favorites, including her newest one, "Tapestry."**


	9. The Advertisement

**Chapter Nine: The Advertisement**

**Disclaimer: I do not own. I just play.**

"If you scroll to item eight, I have the schematic cued up," Captain Pike says.

The officers of the _Enterprise_ flip switches and a collective hum whirs in the air.

"What the—" Chief Engineer Olson exclaims as his PADD buzzes and flickers. All around the conference table, the other officers tap their PADDs and switch them on and off.

Only Spock's PADD is working properly.

Captain Pike looks at his first officer seated to his right and he says, "Mr. Spock, what's going on here?"

"Unknown, Captain," Spock says, taking the PADD from Pike and flipping it over.

Tinny music begins to play, first from one PADD, and then from each of the others in turn. Soon the room is a cacophony of ear-piercing noise.

"Turn it off!" Pike shouts over the music, and Spock pries off the back of the PADD and disengages the power cell. Nothing. The music continues as the other officers also try to disconnect their PADDs.

Abruptly the music stops, and Spock hears a collective sigh of relief. He flips the PADD over and taps the viewscreen.

Curlicue writing begins to appear, and a soft feminine voice speaking an alien language.

"What is this!" Pike says, taking the PADD back from Spock.

Leaning forward, Spock says, "Orion, Captain. I believe it is an advertisement—for human chattel."

Around the room the officers make various noises that Spock knows indicate surprise—snorts, mild curses, even uneasy laughter. Then the view on the screen changes to a picture of a green Orion slave girl, her tangled black hair trailing down her back, her scanty clothes of shimmery blue cloth revealing more of her anatomy than they hide.

Spock blinks. Such advertisements are banned by Federation law. Transmitting them is an offense punishable by fines or even incarceration. That they are appearing on Starfleet-issued PADDs is alarming—and fascinating.

The image of the Orion slave girl begins to undulate sinuously—and the tinny music begins again. Something in the girl's movements seem oddly familiar, though Spock is certain that he has never seen an Orion slave girl dance before.

She is turned away from the camera, her arms lifted first over her head, then out from her sides, as her torso writhes, her bare legs stepping to the left and then the right.

"Mr. Spock!" Captain Pike shouts over the music. "Get this thing turned off!"

Taking the PADD from the captain, Spock tries the fail-safe switch on the side. Curious—nothing seems to kill the feed. Perhaps if he looks more closely at the projection, he can discern the underlying display matrix and find the power source.

The Orion girl continues her dance as Spock peers closely at the screen. Suddenly the music fades and the dance is over—and the girl turns around and grins.

Then the picture, too, fades—not just from the PADD Spock is holding, but from all of the PADDs around the table.

"Captain, I—" Spock begins, but to his surprise, Captain Pike interrupts him.

"Not now, Spock, "Pike says. "I want everyone to listen to me, and listen to me carefully."

Around the table, everyone puts their PADDs down. When the room is still, Pike leans forward and says, "As of this moment, this epidemic of pranks has come to an end. Do I make myself understood?"

Pike surveys each of the officers, ending with Spock.

"It's one thing to swap out someone's lunch—"

At this, Pike looks again at Spock. Surely the captain doesn't suspect that Spock was behind the plomeek soup prank. Dr. Puri's involvement is almost certain—and yet the captain seems to insinuate that Spock is responsible. Either the captain believes it—or he wants the crew to believe it...

Picking up his now-blank PADD, Pike says, "It's another thing entirely to break the law. This goes beyond the pale. Trafficking Orions is despicable—and I'm ashamed that anyone here would imply otherwise—even as a prank."

"Captain," Spock begins again, but inexplicably, the captain holds up his hand.

"Olson," Pike says, and the chief engineer jumps, "this has your fingerprints all over it."

Blushing crimson, Olson says, "Captain, I swear! I never had anything to do with this. I wouldn't! Okay, so I might have pulled a joke or two in my time—"

Here Olson looks around, his face sweaty, his arms raised.

"But I wouldn't put my job in danger by importing contraband. I wouldn't! You have to believe me."

Spock watches Pike's expression—his eyes narrowing, his nostrils flaring, his cheeks blanching. He can't recall ever seeing anyone quite this angry—at least, not a human.

"I have half a mind to throw you in the brig for a few days anyway," Pike says, and Olson's face drains of color.

Once more Spock tries to get the captain's attention.

"Sir," he says, "this may not be an actual—"

To his astonishment, Captain Pike says, "Later, Spock. Right now, we have to make sure this prank hasn't been broadcast anywhere else. Edgerton, see if you can trace the feed from the operations terminal. Wu, get off your butt and help. Sizemore, snoop around—discreetly—and see if anyone else reports seeing this….thing. Get back to me by 1800, if not before. Dismissed."

X X X X X X X X X

All evening Spock has been quieter than usual.

Sometimes he is quiet because he is working on calculations or reviewing the logistics of upcoming events. Nyota has learned to recognize a peculiar glaze in his eye when he is mentally engaged and doesn't want to be disturbed.

Sometimes he is quiet because he is physically exhausted, or weary of words, and Nyota can sit beside him, rubbing her fingers down his arm or tracing the line of his brow, and feel his gratitude for her care.

But tonight he is quiet because he is puzzling through something—not the way he works a mathematical equation, but an examination of a confusing experience—and during those times, Spock is receptive to her gentle questioning.

As she hands him a plate of stir fry, she pulls up the chair near the sofa where he sits. Her own plate is already on the side table—and she picks up her fork and says, "How'd the meeting go today? You haven't said much."

She takes a bite of her dinner and waits. Spock holds his plate, unmoving, and for a moment, Nyota wonders if he is ill. She starts to ask, but she sees a change in his expression—as if he has come to a decision about something. He looks up at her.

"If you had information about a prank, would you tell me?"

Startled, Nyota puts her plate down on the table and says, "What? What prank?"

Spock says nothing for a moment but looks at her intently. Then he tells her about the illegal advertisement and the captain's suspicion about Olson's involvement.

"Even if Olson said he didn't do it, that doesn't mean he didn't," Nyota says. She's never met Olson, but Spock's description of him makes her wary of him. "Humans are adept liars, you know."

Something dark flickers in Spock's expression.

"Nyota," he says, and she feels a prickle of concern at the chill in his tone, "why would Gaila Farlijah-Endef be wearing a wig on an advertisement for an illegal slave operation?"

For a moment Nyota can't speak, so many things flash through her mind at once.

"Gaila? _My_ Gaila? Are you sure? A wig? How could you tell?"

Spock sits motionless, saying nothing, and Nyota feels a rush of annoyance.

"You don't think I had something to do with this, do you? I have no idea why Gaila would be—"

And suddenly the pieces fall together, like an old pachinko machine shifting gears and levers, the ball cascading down to the inevitable end.

Sitting back in her chair, Nyota says, "Captain Pike. He called Gaila earlier this week. She never told me why—I just assumed he needed some computer programming done—"

"Apparently he did," Spock says, steepling his fingers together.

"But—you said he was angry about the prank—"

"Perhaps I misread his emotional response."

"Or more likely, he's a good actor."

Nyota hops up from her chair and sits down on the sofa beside Spock, pulling up her knees and hooking her arms around them.

"Oh, my," she says. "The prankster of pranksters. Who would have guessed!"

Spock unsteeples his fingers and she slides next to him. She reaches up behind her and drapes his arm over her shoulder—and is rewarded by his look of amusement.

"It will be interesting to see if it works," she says, and she senses Spock's curiosity. "You know—if this really does put an end to the pranks."

"Captain Pike has forbidden any more pranks," Spock says, and Nyota snickers.

"So the one you were planning—" she says, reaching up and taking his hand.

"I was not planning one," he says, meeting her gaze.

"Of course you weren't," Nyota says. "But if you _were_, save it for later—just in case you need it."

X X X X X X X X X

Chris's office is almost deserted—his secretary long gone, the custodian who reprograms the environmental controls not due to arrive for another hour. Natalie sits in her customary seat in the corner of the room behind Chris's desk—her favorite spot when Chris is interviewing someone. From her vantage point she can judge someone's reactions—and send Chris subliminal messages with the squeak of her chair or the rustle from shifting her position.

Chris is sitting in his reflective posture—one ankle propped on his other knee, his arms resting lightly on the sides of the chair, which at the moment is swiveled to face Natalie. She holds out a small paper cup and Chris laughs, pulling out a silver flask from his desk drawer and unscrewing it.

"Can't wait?" he says as Natalie upends her cup.

"I'm no drama critic," she says, "but that was quite a performance."

Chris laughs and pours her another drink.

"If I do say so myself," he says, "I could have a career in the theater."

"Or a career as a software programmer."

"Oh, no—not me. You heard what Spock said—my encryption skills aren't up to snuff."

"He'll figure it out eventually," Natalie says, crushing her cup and throwing it into the recycle bin. "What are you going to do then?"

"Nothing," Chris says. He pours himself another drink and screws the top of the flask back on.

"You know," Natalie says, "in all the time I've known you, I can't think of another prank you've ever pulled. That was pretty impressive—for a beginner."

"My one and only," Pike says. "I'm done."

Rubbing her cheek, Natalie says, "Spock won't think so. He'll peg you as a prankster."

"Let him," Pike says. "Give him something to worry about—shake up that Vulcan confidence a bit."

Chris stands up and Natalie follows.

"Besides," Chris says, "he deserves a little payback for that crack about my computer skills."

"It's the truth, though," Natalie says, walking beside Chris as they make their way down the hall. "You could never have done it without Hannah—"

Natalie looks up at Chris in time to see him frown and shake his head.

"Nah. Hannah didn't help. She's...well, she isn't in the picture anymore," he says, casting a look at Natalie. "I'm not telling you anything you probably haven't already guessed. We decided not to renew."

Natalie stops walking and after taking a step, Chris stops, too, and turns to face her.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Chris," Natalie stumbles. Chris's relationship with other women is a topic she never broaches with him—for many reasons. A few months ago when he had mentioned the possibility that Hannah might not want to renew their three-year marriage contract, Natalie had put up her hand and stopped him from talking.

"I'm not your buddy you tell things to," she had protested, and when Chris gave her an odd look, she said, "You understand, don't you?"

They had said nothing more about it—until now.

Chris' recent behavior suddenly makes sense—his strange inattention to the quiet hazing Spock has been enduring, his quick departures from staff meetings with little of his usual banter with his officers.

Natalie reaches out her hand and touches Chris on the forearm. For a moment they make eye contact, and then Chris looks down and they start walking again toward the exit at the end of the hall.

"Now tell me," he says, "do I need to be on the alert for some Vulcan prank retribution?"

Reaching past Chris and pressing the button to open the outside door, Natalie smiles. "I certainly hope so."

**A/N: Thus ends this little fic. If you liked it**—**or if you didn't**—**let me know! Reviews don't have to be fancy to be appreciated! Without your reviews, I don't know that anyone's reading!**

**If this fic DID tickle your fancy, my other stories are listed in chronological order in my profile. Keep an eye out for a new story soon**—**it's an S/U story but Spock Prime makes an appearance.**

**Thanks as always to StarTrekFanWriter!**


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